Bar Belle: Drinking buddy blues

My drinking buddy dumped me. And the only problem is … well, I guess there are several … but the main problem is I’ve lost the one person I rely on to commiserate with during events such as a breakup. She was always fast and ready with solid advice, regardless of whether I asked for it. And what she said was always true, whether I wanted to hear it or not. Most importantly, she was my partner in crime when it came to navigating the nightlife. Bartenders would cower in fear when we stepped through the door. Flirting frat boys would be rendered silent. Regulars would give up their seats for a wink and a smile.

Having a tried-and-true drinking buddy is the key to my success (if you consider success writing a bar column for a free newspaper at 33). Since the breakup, I’ve scrambled to fill the void. I have many friends, and they’re not all on the City Scoot payroll. Yet there I sat on the morning before the St. Patrick’s Parade, alone at McDonald’s, spiking my biggie-sized Diet Coke with Maker’s Mark. This used to be a ritual for us, a tradition steeped in culture. We used to giggle as we tried to conceal the pink flask from the McMorning regulars. Covered in green swag from head to toe, I’m sure we didn’t fool anyone.

This got me thinking about the numerous adventures we had that, without my drinking buddy, would have seemed pathetic. When the last-call lights come on at the Back Door at 3:45 a.m., it seemed OK with her by my side. When I felt like taking a day off to lounge in Flanagan’s open-window booths, watching people grunt through their day, she was sitting across from me. Trips to the Twig N Leaf were the rule, not the exception.

But enough about my woes. Let’s focus on the message of these ramblings: the importance of a drinking buddy. If you’re lucky enough to have a friend who fits the following requirements, buy her a beer next time you’re out and tell her so. Here’s my incomplete list of Drinking Buddy Bylaws.